[Maruki's words incense. Make him livid. As if Akechi's wishes for his own ability, for mundane shitty supplies, rival an unsourced power under a loose cap. His hands are too wet to slide the blade out of his organs to stab through his eyes instead. Fury blooms. Loki appears behind him among the sprawling sea of tentacles he isn't paying attention to. It doesn't matter.

Akechi forces all his body weight into the knife, the wound. Tries to make it hurt. Tries to turn the blade, tries to force it up to let every organ spill out before Azathoth can sew Maruki's body back together.]

Don't start with that shit. The wishes have a cost that I fulfil. [Digs in. He digs in until the edge of the handle starts to disappear in the man's body.

Until Loki consumed by spiraling red flames. Until Akechi is too.]

The potion doesn't. It's given to you by someone whose name we don't even know. A cost we can never be sure of and you-

[Akechi hates him. Hates him. Hates him. So he digs, and digs, and digs until tip of his gloves fingers disappear under Maruki's skin too. He peels. Crushes. Tries to rip apart muscle and flesh to make room for a blade he'll never pull out.]

Just took it. [And he laughs, because it's funny. And he laughs, because it's so pathetic. And he laughs, because Maruki Takuto is like everyone else.] You gave up that piece of your soul without a fight, for no reason - who's to say you won't let it rot here if given a second bottle of liquid to do so? How does it feel to be such worthless trash? To give into temptation so easily?

It really is incredible - your worth is only that of a pawn after all.